


Close to You

by anotherwinchesterfangirl



Series: Song Prompt Fics [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Couch Sex, F/M, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6123025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherwinchesterfangirl/pseuds/anotherwinchesterfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader has a chance to reconnect with Sam after not seeing him since they were kids.</p><p>For the song prompt "Favourite Colour" by Carly Rae Jepsen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close to You

You’d be lying if you said you’d never imagined what it would be like to kiss Sam Winchester. You’ve imagined it a lot of times, actually. The press of his pink lips, his long fingers in your hair, the slip of his tongue against yours. Yeah, you imagined it, in detail, probably more times than you care to admit. But that was a long time ago.

You knew the Winchester brothers—back when you were all just kids being carted back and forth across the country by your hunter fathers. You could count on one hand the number of times you and your dad had met up with John Winchester and his boys, but those times were among your favorite childhood memories. Your stomach still does a little nostalgic flip whenever you hear the name Winchester.

One would have thought that Dean would have been the most likely candidate for your teenage crush: cute, funny, charming, older, that bad boy vibe. But Sam always had your attention. While Dean could be a little brash sometimes, Sam was kind and thoughtful. Once, when you and Sam were 12 and Dean was 16, you had the brilliant idea to go swimming even though it was only April in Indiana and under 60 degrees. You sprained your ankle climbing over the locked fence around the motel pool, and Sam carried you back to the room, wrapped your ankle in an ace bandage with his gentle, strong hands, stayed with you for the rest of the night watching bad tv. That’s when you knew you were a fool for Sam Winchester.

You _almost_ kissed once, when you were 16, sitting on the hood of Sam’s father’s impala while your dad and John and Dean and Bobby Singer played poker inside. But Dean walked up at just the wrong time, bragging about beating the old guys at their own game, and then, when he realized what he’d interrupted, he started teasing Sam and wouldn’t let up. You blushed as scarlet as the underwear you’d donned for the occasion and avoided Sam for the rest of the week. That was the last time you saw the Winchesters.

So when you see him fifteen years later sitting in the bar you frequent, all long legs and broad, flannel covered shoulders, your heart races. Or maybe it stops. You’re not exactly sure, but you can’t really breathe, and you can’t even get your mouth open to say his name.

But he sees you. He looks up and he sees you, and his face breaks into that perfect, incandescent grin, those same dimples you remember from your adolescence just visible under a layer of stubble. He shoots off his barstool and scoops you up into the biggest hug, and he even still smells so _Sam_ that your breath catches in your throat.

You abandon your friends and claim a booth in the corner and catch up over a beer, then two, then three.

“Sam,” you say after an hour or so because you can’t believe he’s here and in front of you and _alive_ after all these years. You can’t believe what he’s been through—the stories he’s told over the past hour. It’s insane that you’re even lucky enough to see him again after all this time, but here he is and he’s beautiful and just the same as he ever was but also so, so different. You're relaxed around him in a way that you aren't around most people, even those closest to you. Being with someone that knows all your secrets, understands your life because he's lived it too, is just different. You don’t even have words to describe the feeling, but he knows; it’s reflected back at you in those kaleidoscope eyes. “Sam, I—”

He grabs your hand across the table. “Want to get out of here?”

“ _Yes_ ,” you breathe, already grabbing your coat. Sam throws some bills on the table and leads you out of the bar, his enormous hand completely encompassing yours.

He offers to drive you home at the same time you ask him if he wants to go to your place. You giggle together as you get in the car. Ever the gentleman, he doesn’t even touch you until you get to the door of your apartment. His hand is on the small of your back as you dig out your keys and get the door unlocked. And as soon as you’re both inside and the door clicks shut, his lips are on yous.

He kisses you like the world is ending and the only thing that can save it is the fire ignited by the connection of your lips. If this were a romantic comedy, time would be standing still and the camera would be panning around and around the two of you; it’s that kind of kiss. His fingers slip up into your hair, cupping that back of your head gently as he holds your face against his. His tongue slides against yours, almost hesitant, and you surge up on your toes, press your body tight against him. He has to know how long you’ve wanted this.

You break away, but you’re still pressed tight, Sam’s arms wrapped around your back holding you close to him. He looks down at you, leans his forehead against yours as he catches his breath. You’re both breathing hard; your heart feels like it’s going to pound out of your chest.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he murmurs.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips. “Me too.”

“Is it...do you want…I mean—”

“Yes.”

You cross the room in a flurry of kissing and touching, shedding coats and clothes as you go. Down to just his boxer briefs, Sam drops to the couch and pulls you onto his lap. With his hands tightly gripping your hips, he grinds you against the tent in his boxers, and you gasp sharply at the friction against your clit through the thin cotton of your panties. He swallows your gasps into his mouth as he kisses you again, pulls the cups of your bra down almost roughly, exposing your breasts, working your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand slides into the back of your panties and grips your ass, digging his fingers in.

You’re lost in him, in his lips and his tongue and his hands, so turned on that you can barely see as you reach over and yank open the drawer of the end table next to the couch where you know you have a condom. You don’t even bother to stand and remove your soaked through underwear, just push them to the side, pull Sam’s cock through the slit in his shorts and roll the condom down onto him. He grits his teeth, stifling a moan into your shoulder, as you lower yourself onto him. He feels so good inside you, stretching and filling you up perfectly, your eyes roll back in your head a little bit as you start to move. Sam’s hands settle on your hips and he pulls you down onto him, pistoning his hips up to meet you thrust for thrust.

You come before you’re ready to, but it hits you like a freight train, barrels right through you and shakes you apart, and you’re still screaming when Sam goes rigid underneath you, pulls you down onto him roughly and buries himself deep. You practically collapse on top of him, panting with your forehead pressed sweaty against his shoulder..

“Oh my god, Sam,” you say after a moment. His palms are warm on your back, and he rubs briefly up and down before squeezing your shoulders affectionately and lifting you off of him. You stand on wobbly legs, and he catches your hand in his. You look down at him sitting a little awkwardly, knees splayed wide, his softening cock lying wetly against his thigh. He smiles a sort of self-conscious smile. It seems sort of surreal to have him here in your living room.

“Sam, I…” you trail off, not sure what you want to say. You don’t want it to be over? You don’t want him to leave yet? You’re sorry it went by so fast?

“Wanted to do that since we were sixteen?” He grins. “Yeah, me too.”

You laugh, shift from foot to foot. “Um, want to stay for a bit? I can put a pot of coffee on?”

“That’d be great,” he says, his cheeks pink.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom quick to get cleaned up, and when you return, Sam is in the kitchen wearing just his jeans, slung low on his hips, and rooting through your cupboards, presumably for coffee. You didn’t really have a chance to get a good look at him before, but your mouth goes dry looking at him now. His arms are raised, the muscles in his shoulders bunching, as he reaches for coffee filters and turns around. He is miles of tanned skin and lean muscle, leading down into narrow hips, the hair between his pecs still glistening with sweat.

You take the coffee filters from him, just to occupy your hands, and start scooping coffee grounds into the maker. Once the coffee is brewing, you turn around and he’s right there, watching you intently. He boxes you in against the counter with his arms, kisses you slowly, sliding a hand into your robe to cup your breast. You’re breathing hard after just a few moments when he breaks away, trails kisses down over your pulse point, catches your earlobe between his teeth.

“I’d like to take my time this time,” he says low into your ear.

You shiver in anticipation, nodding.

The coffee’s long cold by the time you remember it.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun is peeking through the blinds, and you’re tangled in bed together, though you haven’t slept. You lay with your head on Sam’s chest, his fingers in your hair.

“I should go,” he says eventually, but he doesn’t make any move to get up.

After the second or third time, he does actually get up and pull on his clothes. Before he leaves, he scrawls a phone number on a scrap of paper and hands it to you as you follow him to the door in your robe.

“Call me if you ever need anything, okay? If you’re ever in trouble.”

You grab the pen from his hand and turn his palm up, print your number on his skin, thick and black, tracing over each number multiple times, just to keep his hand in yours for an extra minute.

“I promise. But only if you promise to call me the next time you’re in town?”

He dimples down at you, kisses you briefly, whispering “I promise” against your lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated! :)


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